


the war is over and we are beginning

by thewhitebirds



Series: when the war came [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Death Eaters, F/M, Gen, Post - Deathly Hallows, Rebuilding, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhitebirds/pseuds/thewhitebirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They let you go, but the war doesn't let you go." Narcissa starts to rebuild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the war is over and we are beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Welcome Home ficathon on Livejournal

  
You want to blame Lucius, in your heart of hearts, you really do. But you don't, because he's blaming himself enough for a hundred people and really all you want is your old Lucius back; the one who smirks and surprises you with flowers, not the one who jumps at shadows and tries to hide his nightmares from you. (But he can't. You hold him at night while he shakes in cold sweat.)  
  
Your mother used to say that a lady should really only be in the papers for her wedding, charity, or her death, but your mother has been gone a long time and you're very glad she doesn't have to know about this trial, because you were always her favorite even after Bella and Andromeda were disappointing in their own ways. But you sit with a face of stone and this time, you tell the truth, and Harry Potter speaks up for you (even though you know he and Draco have always hated each other) and they let you go. All of you.  
  
They let you go, but the war doesn't let you go. The Manor is yours; it loves you as much as it loves Lucius and Draco, but you know it resents you for allowing the intrusion; you feel it in the stones. You scrub at bloodstains with your hands. You get rid of everything Bellatrix burned and broke. You try to forgive her. You try to forgive everyone. Lucius keeps working on his will. Sometimes he falls asleep at his desk, smelling like brandy. _I'm sorry_ , he whispers all the time to you. _So sorry._ You bite your tongue until it bleeds because you aren't sorry.  
  
But you _are_ sorry for failing Draco. He has hard eyes now, not soft and grey like the clouds when he was little. He looks a hundred years old, and you know he's seen and done things that men of a hundred will never have to. He won't go in the purple parlour or in the cellar, and you understand why. He writes a lot of letters. _What about lunch with Theodore?_ you ask one day, and he gives you a look of mingled pity and disgust. You admire Pansy's tenaciousness, you always have, but she visits less and less. (You know, in your heart of hearts, that she won't be the one. Draco needs someone who can carefully put the pieces of his soul back together, and she's always been clumsy.)  
  
You hope you can put the pieces of Lucius' soul back together, but you doubt it. You want someone to take care of you, but no one is there. You bury all the dead peacocks you find. You find eggs and cast a charm to keep them warm. You plant begonias. A small thing every day.  
  
Draco wants to travel. You can hardly express your approval in enough words; he needs to leave the country and the mournful house and find himself, or something. Lucius just nods. He says he'll write, but you know he's lying. _Please come back to me, dearheart,_ you whisper before he leaves, and he says _I always will, Mum._  
  
Some days, it's too much and your heart threatens to burst from its chest with all you've lost. You wander like a ghost in your own house. You have never been lonely with Lucius, but now you feel more alone with him than without him. Tears don't solve problems, but you cry anyway. Then you smash every plate you can find, hundreds of years of history in shards around you. You cut your thumb a little but you don't notice. You don't even notice when Lucius enters and starts repairing them without a word.  
  
You look at him and you know every angry thought and every piece of blame and every sorrow is on your face at this moment, but he just says, _We'll fix this._ Not _I'm sorry_ , but _we'll fix this._ Then he holds your hand and smiles, a little.  
  
He holds your hand. It's not a lot, but for today, it's enough.


End file.
